Photographs
by Dancing Darkness
Summary: What was going on in the Doctor's mind after Jenny 'died? How does he cope with being the only survivor? How does he keep smiling?


Hey there! I'm back! I thought of this while watching the Doctor's Daughter and it works as a sequel to _'Part 6 - The Break In'_ as this is where the Doctor went while John was at Torchwood. This is _part 7 of the Unexpected series_, reading the first parts of the series just for continuity as this is a direct sequel...

Anywho! Hope you enjoy this one. It's my first sort-of song fic. Basically I've listed the song I was listening to when I wrote this. You can find it on youtube, it's called Little Wonders and it's from Meet the Robinsons, a film about time travel :D.

Hope you like it! Please review!

Allons-y!

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**Photographs**

_Our lives are made_

_In these small hours,_

_These little wonders,_

_These twists and turns of fate._

_Time falls away_

_But these small hours,_

_These small hours, still remain._

- Little Wonders

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In the TARDIS there was a room, a special room. It was out of the way and virtually impossible to find unless you know exactly where you were going. It was meant to be that way because not just anyone was meant to be there. To find it first a person had to find the Cloister Chamber where the dusty bells hung in silence, bells that used to sound to bring the Doctor home. Still, all quiet now. If a person managed to find that room then they'd note that not far from it was another door. The door was small and very, very old. It was warm to the touch and filled with the sound of laughter.

The reason this door was so hard to find is that it was connected to emotion. First a person had to want to see the door and that was a very difficult thing. Emotions are flighty and what was contained in the room often made the Doctor sad, if he was sad then maybe he didn't want to see the room at all.

The inside of the room was filled with orange candlelight, despite the fact there were no candles. The light flooded all the corners of the hexagonal room; nowhere could a shadow be seen. This illumination gave the sensation of limitless space. There was no furniture in the room either, it was completely bare. Yet every wall was covered with pictures and frames, some clearer than others and some older than others. The age of them could be clearly tracked from the wall to the left of the door arching around the room to the wall on the right.

The Doctor reached out a hand to touch the pictures on the left. He'd been so young back then, so full of life. On this wall were his parents, his siblings and his children from so long ago. So very long ago. Their faces smiled up at him from scenes that he could only just remember. He may be a genius but all things fade with time. Even his most beloved memories from long ago had begun to fade. It hurt to look at these pictures sometimes, to be reminded of the hole and pain left when Gallifrey burned. He felt a tear slide down his cheek.

Slowly he began to walk around the walls in a familiar pattern, the further he went the more of his companions he saw. He smiled at the memory of them. Every face brought laughter to mind and untold adventures. But at the same time there was untold pain and battle. There were nine hundred years in this room, nine hundred years of his life. Darkness and light clashed, pain and happiness across the walls.

He was nearing the door again when he came across the pictures of Rose. There were many of her, smiling and laughing just for him. She'd seemed so human when he first met her. So small in such a big universe. He thought he'd never love again, never get attached again. Never. But then there she was, a girl from London that stole his heart and made it her own. He thought she'd travel with him forever. She'd thought so too.

But nothing is forever. All things must end. All must come to dust.

The last wall was covered in new things, new memories. There was Martha there and Donna. Donna, his best friend. She was his first companion that he could have honestly said he counted as a best friend and it was better because she didn't fall in love with him the way others had. She was his mate, just like he'd wanted. The sad smile on his face became a full blown grin.

Next to them were, of course, pictures of John. His youngest and newest son. These pictures were of happy times and as he looked at them he couldn't help but remember. John's first time outside on his own two feet, he'd fallen in a puddle and looked thoroughly put out by the whole experience. His first sonic screwdriver, he'd been three and Martha had berated him for hours after the microwave exploded. There were a few of his birthdays, a tradition that both Martha and Donna had insisted he follow.

His favourite was one that was taken last Christmas, John had only just turned five. He hadn't been expecting a call but there it was. Sarah Jane inviting them for Christmas dinner, traditional earth style. Now he and John had travelled and celebrated on a few planets before, just the two of them, but never with 'family'. Donna was, of course, invited and even Martha stopped by. In it they were wearing paper hats and everyone was smiling. It was one of the happiest days the Doctor could remember, the best Christmas since the one he'd spent on the Powell estate in south London.

Days were mostly good now, he noticed. He'd had what Donna called 'dad shock' for a while but now, now he was used to it, it was good to be a father. He was truly happy. It had hurt at first to look at John. In him the Doctor could see his other sons and their children, could see their smiles and their laughter. The pain was fresh again and sometimes it was so very hard to see past it. But it had got better. John had made him better. Like his mother so long ago.

He knew John came to this room sometimes late at night when he thought his dad wasn't looking. He'd have to make John a room of his own like this, he mused. The Doctor knew why he came, of course. He came to look at the photos of Rose. John never asked about her, not really. He knew that Rose didn't even know he existed. But still he was a little boy and every little boy wants a mother. He would come and stare at the woman that couldn't know him, would never know him.

He'd worried at first. Why wouldn't he? He didn't want his son to be lonely, to want for anything. It was hard being a single parent and a job he believed he was supremely unqualified for. He'd watched his son carefully until one day when he'd dared to ask. It had been a very awkward conversion. One his son had started. "Do you miss her?" he'd asked suddenly while the Doctor was upside down in the floor of the TARDIS working on something.

He'd stopped and, with some effort, pulled himself into a sitting position to look at this son. He'd been in his shirtsleeves and was covered in bio-oil. "Miss who? Martha? Sure I do, don't you?" he'd replied, using a rag to clean his hands.

"No. Mum. Do you miss her?" his son continued, deep eyes looking unwaveringly at him.

He'd paused, how could he not? Of course he missed her, he missed everyone that left but Rose had been truly special. "Yes, every day," he told him with a thin smile.

"If you could go back and change it, change the war, would you?" John asked.

The Doctor bad been about to reply when he realised something, this was coded speech. His son was getting at something but was too scared to outright ask it. If the Doctor changed anything to bring Rose back then John may very well never have been born. Would he do that? Swap John for Rose? "Of course not," he'd said, looking away. "I loved her very much but life is full of meetings and partings. That is the way of it. Especially for people like us. I wouldn't give you up for the world, John."

The smile that had dawned on his son's face was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He'd meant every word and said the exact right thing. That was when John was able to move past the awkwardness that had clearly been plaguing him for some time, it was like a weight had lifted from him. Things had become better after that.

The Doctor sighed and looked at the blank piece of psychic paper in his hand. All these photos were his memories imprinted on psychic paper, the equivalent of always carrying a camera. He was here to add a new one to the group, to his Memory Room. He gazed at the paper and let the memory flow forth, watching as a face materialised on the paper, grinning up at him exuberantly. He smiled back, even though he felt the beginnings of tears.

He'd have liked John to have had a sister, it would have been nice. Jenny would have been a great older sister for John, a great daughter for him. There was no doubt by the end, she'd had two hearts and a mind of her own. She was undoubtedly his and he'd been so proud of her.

But she'd been shot. She'd died. He hadn't been able to save her. Why hadn't she regenerated? Why? Maybe it was the fact that a Time Lord had to have the knowledge they could regenerate? If you didn't know you could do something you wouldn't do it. Either way it didn't matter, she was gone now.

Carefully he pressed the photo to the wall where it fixed itself right next to the most recent picture of John. They had his eyes, his freckles. His unending grin. They both beamed up at him.

He felt the familiar wash of grief, a grief he'd last felt as Gallifrey burned. A hole had been torn into his soul and filled with pain. But the pain would get better. It had to get better. He had John and Donna. He would mourn her, as was her due, and tell John tales of her. Such tales he would tell!

Thinking of John it was time to pick him up. He'd burdened Captain Jack with him a bit too long perhaps? He wiped his tears away. Yes, he'd need to make John his own Memory Room. It would be bare at first, they all are, and hard to maintain. But that's life, a room filled with pictures both good and bad. Pain is an unfortunate side affect but no less important than love. These pictures told the story of his life, maybe it was time for John to tell his.

He smiled and the lights dimmed as he left. He cast one last backward glance to the new photograph before shutting the door, leaving it to disappear once more. It was time to see his son.

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_Let it slide,_

_Let your troubles fall behind you._

_Let it shine_

_Until you feel it all around you._

_And I don't mind,_

_If it's me you need to turn to,_

_We'll get by._

_It's the heart that really matters in the end._

- Little Wonders

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So what did you think? I tried to get the mourning father thing in, I do honestly think there is a Memory Room in the TARDIS just to keep the Doctor's brain straight. Can you imagine all that memory stuffles in his head? It would take up so much space....

Please review! Tell me what you think!

Love you all!

- D


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